


The Mess In Your Home Is A Metaphor For The Mess In Your Mind, And If Someone Else Makes It Messier Maybe You Should All Consider Therapy

by Hebi_Grin



Series: This is not a proper use of the phrase 'Butterfly Effect' [3]
Category: Gintama
Genre: (Not in the main action), Angst, Attempts at humour, Bad Coping Mechanism, Established Relationship, GinZura if you squint?, Hints of top zura, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Maybe GinTaka too if you squint very very very had, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Slice of Life, Smut, TakaZura - Freeform, Zura is a bit of a hoarder, but they are a mess too, chance of Joui 3 reunion, handjob, power bottom zura, recovering from PTSD, zura pov, zura's room is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25239898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hebi_Grin/pseuds/Hebi_Grin
Summary: Katsura's flat is already a mess and Takasugi  staying over is not helping. At his part time job, Katsura meets Gintoki again for the first time after the war, and it awakens memories of the past.Back to Shinsuke for the night, he looks for some peculiar comfort.When Takasugi started moving again, he was rougher, more passionate and frenzied than before. Katsura didn't know for sure if it was because Takasugi was indulging him after having eventually answered his question or because he was overwhelmed due to hearing of Gintoki again and channelling the fury against one into screwing the other. Maybe both were right.They really didn't deserve kindness.
Relationships: Katsura Kotarou/Takasugi Shinsuke
Series: This is not a proper use of the phrase 'Butterfly Effect' [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1252823
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	The Mess In Your Home Is A Metaphor For The Mess In Your Mind, And If Someone Else Makes It Messier Maybe You Should All Consider Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> Set around three years after the war. This is thought to be chronologically after The Cowl Does Not Make The Monk and Entangled, but it can be read by itself as well. 
> 
> This was beta'd by [plipdragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plipdragon/pseuds/plipdragon), who gave me GREAT, precious help and constant feedback and was extremely kind and supportive ♡
> 
>  ~~Enjoui~~ Enjoy!

"Have you seen my shirt? The one I use for work?" Katsura frantically asked Takasugi, emerging from under the table where he had been searching for it.

The other man was sitting idly on the windowsill, sipping tea that Zura had made from a chipped cup. Victoria, Katsura's _male_ cat, was resting on his lap. Takasugi let the cat do as he pleased. 

Katsura was fretfully wandering around the room, searching every nook and cranny for his clothes and under anything big enough to possibly hide them. The single-room that served as the living room, bedroom and kitchen was scornfully described by Takasugi as a run-down, cramped, tiny tenement but Katsura insisted on calling it a ‘convertible space’ instead.

He was rummaging for his clothes while only wearing light grey boxers and pink plush rabbit-shaped slippers that were too small for him. The familiarity of his body was visible to Takasugi: the layers of older and newer scars from battles were mixed with reddish and bluish marks of scratches and bites that _he_ had left on him. Katsura had done no less on Shinsuke's body. 

"Have you looked in the closet?" He drawled, kiseru between his lips while he fumbled within the sleeves of his yukata. "Where are the matches?" He mumbled to himself.

Katsura huffed. The _convertible space_ was a _mess_. A _real_ mess, the type where one could not walk more than two steps in any direction before meeting an obstacle. And even if the space were empty, not much more leeway could be gained before meeting a wall. Katsura had gauged that it was eight steps in width and ten in length. Thirteen and fifteen, walking in shorter steps. 

He hated to admit it, but it really was a tiny, cramped room. Packed with his possessions, he wouldn't stop filling it with _anything_ novel that he found. Every day, he added another newspaper onto the pile. ‘You never know when you’ll need that piece of news again!’ He repeated to himself. He acquired other items in a similar whimsical fashion.

One day, he was buying pieces of fabric for an insignificant price, fancying about their potential. He could make curtains for his window, or even clothes by himself if he’d learn how to. 

‘How cute!’ He had yelled out in the same fabric shop after seeing pink slippers in the shape of a rabbit. They had a soft plush texture and the ears wobbled with every step taken in them. They were the same ones he was now wearing, but he didn’t care that they fit too short for his feet. They were the last animal-shaped slippers in the booth and he had spent the money that should have gone for food for the day. But they couldn't be left alone, could they? He didn’t find it in himself to haggle when the animal was probably lonely and wanting a home, plushie or not. That day he starved. 

‘This is indisputably a deal,’ he had nodded to himself, buying a cheap toaster even though he actually couldn't afford the sliced bread for it very often. 

For free, he was offered a wooden ladder, but then he found out that the man was about to throw away a large plant because it was too big, so he felt sad for it and took that in too. 

‘I need this,’ he had said, taking a crooked mannequin from the garbage of a clothes shop. He had thoroughly cleaned it and dressed it. When Takasugi had unexpectedly arrived the afternoon before, he caught him dressed in his monk robe and _quarrelling_ with the natural-sized human-shaped chunk of plastic. He had mockingly asked, “Feeling lonely, Zura?”

Every time that Takasugi came over, with the most varied excuses, the room was worse.

_Twice the mess._

When Katsura asked him what brought him to Edo, Takasugi would say that he was laying low and planning something _'big'_ , or on the run _after_ having done something big, or "What? Can't I just want to see you?" sprang purposely on Katsura to take him aback, even though he knew better than to believe him. 

Whatever the reason for him to come was, Katsura did not have enough time to deal with the _additional_ mess. 

There were far too many things for him to think about and to do. His Joui to lead, information to gather in dirty alleys or the communal spaces of the tenement, networking with people, juggling three more or less stable part-time jobs _and_ some occasional ones. And it was all because revolutions need money, and you can't have money without working! Even though the fact that Takasugi was clearly _not_ working and _yet_ still carried that costly lifestyle clashed with that axiom. Then feeding Victoria, and burying in tears the little animals’ corpses that Victoria brought to him as if feeding him in return. 

Doing the groceries, but that required figuring out what items cost less and where because budgeting is no less important. And of course, doing the regular chores. Multitasking was not a problem but he definitely did not need to have more points in his 'to-do list' that he could _not_ tick off. 

As Katsura searched for his work clothes, he realised he had almost forgotten. Earlier, he had picked up a heap of clothes and pieces of _cloth_ in a big basket and crammed it into the wardrobe, not folding anything and not even caring much if it was still unused or dirty, acting just for the sake of removing _some_ of that chaos from his view even if he knew he would regret it and have to do all the laundry again. 

Katsura kneeled on the floor, taking out the basket and spreading its contents on the ground - all of it what he had picked up earlier. He almost immediately found his trousers under the monk robe that he was wearing when Takasugi had suddenly arrived the day before. The same robe that he, _well_ , was not wearing less than twenty minutes later, when both of them were panting naked on the futon, already dirtying freshly changed sheets as Katsura gently pressed his fingers on the walls of the other man's hole with some lube. 

He had indulged _too long_ in Takasugi's body, thrusting and biting and sucking his skin, drawing out from his mouth increasingly pleasured noises that were rare from him. Katsura wondered if the neighbours had heard anything through the thin walls of the tenement. Then he had to leave Shinsuke there for a couple of hours when he rushed to make it in time for _another one_ of his jobs. It was just an occasional one, no particular attire was needed, but today he would probably have to _run_ for real. _Not away, for once._

Digging into a big ball of fabric he found the toasted crust of a slice of bread which was still good and put it into his mouth. He still had no idea about how it ended up there, but apart from splurging on costly sakè and sushi ordered from one of the most luxurious restaurants in Edo, Takasugi _had_ brought him a sliced pack of bread to make toast at least. Even though Katsura pointed out as he always would, that it was not a good occasion to get expensive sushi because it was neither of their birthdays. 

He was humming in the search of the shirt while chewing the crunchy bread. 

"Ha! Here it is!" He announced, waving the second-hand black shirt with the logo of the restaurant stamped on it. When he moved it, the last and empty bottle of lube rolled on the floor and Katsura flushed at remembering _how_ all of the remaining content was used in less than thirty-six hours, and not a single drop was left in it. 

He got up, his clothes in his arms. 

“You knew my clothes were there, didn’t you? Couldn't you speak before? I was going crazy!” Katsura was getting the second leg into his pants. 

“I was enjoying the show,” Takasugi rebutted, annoyingly snickering, examining the fabric of his haori that he had laid next to him, still in the search. "Damn, where are they?"

Katsura looked at him sternly, fastening the belt around his hips. “I wasn’t crawling around half-nuddy to put on a show for your enjoyment.”

“You don’t say,” he answered distractedly, looking around himself still with Victoria on his lap. Apparently, he had a hard time finding things in that place, too.

Katsura tightened the belt a bit more accurately. Those pants were still too large for his waist. He really needed to take them in or put on some weight.

“Will you still be here when I come back?” Katsura asked casually while buttoning up the shirt. 

"Maybe,” the other man answered evasively, lighting his kiseru with the last match from the box that he had finally found – not in his garment – but behind him.

Katsura huffed. He disapproved of Takasugi smoking, especially in his home, but he knew he couldn’t help it. He walked to the cabinet near the stove and took a new box of matches from a larger pack that he had recently bought from a ronin who was now selling them for a living in the same tenement row. He thought that buying from him would make it easier to convince him to serve the cause. 

“Here are more matches, in case you need them,” he said, slamming the box on the countertop. 

“Yes, thank you,” the other man answered. He had not even watched, he just breathed in the smoke deeply, as if he had been longing for it, and let it back out with a light, long huff. 

“If you _do_ stay, please tidy after yourself,” Katsura said. He gestured with his head at the traces of his _guest_ 's stay as he collected his hair in a low ponytail at the nape with the white hairband that had been around his wrist. 

Takasugi let go of the empty box, tossing it on the floor. “Sure,” he replied, puffing the smoke of another, shorter drag.

Katsura stared at him disapprovingly, aware that _no, it was not 'sure' at all_. He was used to him coming and going, often without a warning or a proper greeting. He left a mess behind himself most of the time. Scraps of tobacco, used cups, _cups used as ashtrays_ , wrappings of takeout food and drinks, a dishevelled futon, with _Katsura himself_ left in a similar state. 

He took his bunny slippers off in the genkan, wearing a pair of closed shoes instead. “If you don’t, at least lock up the door when you leave,” Kotarou admonished Shinsuke, while he was already at the threshold of the open door. “Victoria's bowl is already full. If she wants to go out, she's allowed.” 

" _He_ ," Takasugi corrected, hitting the kiseru on the edge of the teacup he had been drinking from, using it as an ashtray. 

Kotarou grumbled and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Katsura entered the restaurant from the staff hallway and stood at the boss' office.

“Good evening,” he greeted him. 

“Hi...” The bulky man answered back absentmindedly, looking intently at some files on his desk.

“Ah, Kotarou!"

Katsura had already started walking down the corridor again when he was called back. He leant on the door frame. 

"Yes?" 

"Today you're the only one coming from the regular dining room staff. There’s a new guy for a trial day. Please, mentor him. He doesn't seem to have any idea about this job. He is broke and his landlady asked me to see if there isn’t some work that he can do, though. I'm giving him a chance.” 

Katsura smiled softly. That was how he was hired for the job, too. The owner was that kind of person. He was not a Joui, but he was just willing to hire penniless people struggling to find a job who could _not_ talk about their past. But he wouldn't make unnecessary questions. All he asked for was dedication. So, he ended up hiring mostly Jouishishi, some of whom Katsura had in his group now, since no one in this unfair world was more dedicated and broke than patriots fighting for freedom these days. 

“Okay. Where is he?” 

The older man gestured at the dining hall.

Katsura was humming a cheerful tune as he walked through the corridor. He’d meet someone new, help him to do his best, guide him and maybe, at the end of the night, ask him to join his group. 

_It was going to be a nice night._

He was not yet in the hall and he could already hear the clinks of dishes and glasses against each other. The first lesson he would teach the new guy would be to be _nicer_ with the sets. 

Katsura stopped at the doorway. 

The guy was distractedly readying the tables. Kotarou could not see his face, but that hair was enough for him to recognise him. His hands started shivering and his breath grew thinner. He was feeling a strange muddle of nostalgia, affection and anxiety stirring up. 

_It was going to be a long night_. 

Katsura waited. He needed to calm down, take a long breath. He mustered up some courage before he reached him. 

“You are supposed to put placemats on the tables in this kind of place, Gintoki.”

The other man turned around, and Katsura saw his face for the first time since the day Shouyou-sensei had died by his hand. His heart skipped a beat as he unwillingly saw those moments again in his mind. 

Gintoki was startled, dead-fish eyes went wide open, a hand running through his wavy silver hair scuffling it. “Geez…” He breathed. “I didn’t sign up for this.”

They gawked at each other silently for a few seconds. Both of them had lost some weight and had a look that was more blank than they were used to.

Katsura wasn’t sure how to deal with him. Gintoki didn’t seem to have an idea either.

Gin turned around and unlaced the apron, on his way to walk out. 

“Wait!” Katsura almost screeched, placing a hand on the friend’s shoulder to stop him before he realised what he was doing.

Gintoki turned his face towards him. Katsura’s mind was overflowed with things he wanted to say to him. 

_It's okay. I’m not mad with you. I would have done as you did. You made the right choice. It was sensei’s will. Why don’t we go back to being the three of us like back then? I’ll mediate with Takasugi._

He had never dared to confess such thoughts to Takasugi, and he felt a pang of guilt for that.

None of it came out of his open mouth in front of Gintoki as well. 

“At least stay for the shift, otherwise you won’t be paid for today.”

Gintoki sighed and put his apron back. Katsura made a sad smile and walked to the cupboard to take the placemats.

Katsura did his best to help him get through the night, training him as he was asked. But it was _tough_. Gintoki had always been a difficult student. _How did Shouyou-sensei not get frustrated having to repeat a dozen times the same thing?_

“I told you, the placemats, Gintoki,” he huffed. The other man was readying a table for some new customers again, forgetting about the placemat that was just _there_. 

Gintoki had given him a lazy look. “That crap is pointless, you just have one more thing to do. People are going to dirty the table anyway.”

As he watched Gintoki, Katsura had a flash of the past, _again_. He stared at him open-mouthed, eyes blinded from the present. He shook his head quickly when he heard Takasugi’s scream in his mind, and turned around so that he wouldn’t meet his friend’s face. “It’s the restaurant’s policy. Can’t you abide by the rules every now and then?”

 _That was no good._ He had to avoid looking at him all the time. Every time he happened to, the intrusive memories of the past popped up again, stronger than before, requiring him some moments to get his composure back. 

It was almost time for the restaurant to close the door, ten more minutes and only clients already in could eat. For more than twenty minutes, there had been no customers. The previous ones had left, and Katsura was leaning against the counter near the entrance of the restaurant, a finger nervously drumming on the surface. He stared blankly at the entrance door, hoping no one would step in. 

Distractedly, he had heard the sound of a chair dragged on the floor. He doggedly fought against the part of him that wanted to scold Gintoki for having sat at a table. 

_Should I talk to him? I want to. There are so many things I want to tell and ask him. How is he doing? What has he done in the past three years? Where is he staying? Should I just ask the boss his address? Can I talk to him without worry? Is he still the same person I used to know? It seems so but how would I know? Can I talk to him without meeting his face? Or can I face him if I make the effort? Would he join? The Jouishishi still need him! Is this inconsiderate? Sure, Takasugi will be mad, but he’ll understand one day. Or maybe I could just not say anything about it to him..._

“Kotarou-san? Hey, Kotarou-san!” 

Katsura almost jumped in place, taken aback. When he looked at who was calling him, he saw the girl at the cash register looking at him. He thought she looked a bit fazed. 

“Yes? How can I help you?”

“Is… Is something the matter with that guy?” She whispered. “You know he… He has his finger stuck in the nose… It's been a while...”

_He what?!_

Katsura was bewildered. 

“Gintoki, are you still ten years old?! Stop nose-digging!” He scolded, striding towards a table near the one where Gintoki was. “Are you looking for Kanju and Manju in there? It’s useless!” He scoffed, nervously starting to clear the table. 

“Mh? Who are Kanju and Manju? Some guys you tried to date at the same time but ended up together instead? You shouldn’t hunt two rabbits at one time…”

“Learn your history, you… You dunce!” 

“Dunce? What are you, my _grand_ mother?”

Katsura grumbled but there was a slight smile on his face. _He doesn’t seem to have changed much._

While they were cleaning, turned away from each other, it was already past two.

"Remember to pick your meal box from the kitchen," Katsura said, painstakingly piling up bowls and dishes on a tray. "Not many people came today, so it must be bigger than usual..."

 _The restaurant being less busy had been a stroke of luck_ , Katsura thought. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to tackle the day, with past memories hindering and distracting him.

"Don't need it," Gintoki said grave-voiced.

"You don't need food? Since when?" Katsura answered jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

"Your kindness, Zura." As if all that joking had been an act to make it easier for both of them to get through the night, his voice sounded tired now. Katsura could understand that. Gintoki didn’t know what Katsura thought, but he felt sad at such a statement. 

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura."

_Some things won't ever change, will they?_

"I'm not pitying you, Gintoki. I'm just informing you. The staff gets a meal included in the shift. Take it and shut up."

"Is that so…?"

Katsura picked up the tray he was filling and took it to the kitchen. 

When he was back, Gintoki was still not done picking up the placemats. 

Katsura sighed and approached him to help. When he was done, he was walking to the cupboard to store the placemats he had in his hands, but he stopped as soon as he was next to the closet. Facing away from each other, Gintoki was some steps behind him.

"After you go to the owner…" Katsura started but paused. His fingers were nervously fiddling with the placemats. "I would like to talk to you. I will be waiting in the alley outside of the staff door." He rapidly uttered the sentence while he was putting the placemats away and immediately made his way out before _he_ could change his mind or Gintoki could voice his refusal. 

He was not sure _why_ he told him so. He wanted to reconnect with him, realise his dream of all the three of them together as it should be. Yet, meeting him like that all of a sudden had already tested his mind _a lot_. Maybe, he deemed, he had to force the situation a bit. To make the effort and fight against the part of him that was telling him that they needed more time. 

* * *

Katsura was waiting outside, sitting on a wooden box, hand gripping at the handle of the meal bag. He was disconnected from reality, from the present, his mouth half-open and his eyes glazed, trapped in past memories randomly rising in his mind without proper order. 

_Shinsuke shouting Gintoki’s name. Sensei’s head flying and rolling to the ground. The blood that was dripping from Gintoki’s sword. Shinsuke begging him to stop. The ropes which were bruising his wrists as he was fighting against the ties. The blade that darted at Takasugi’s eye. Gintoki, using his sword to set them free._

Again and again, he was reliving all of it, combined in a different order. 

He didn't know how much time he had spent there, but he got back to reality only when he felt a shake at the shoulder. 

He looked up, noticing his boss watching him with concern. 

"Kotarou? Are you okay?"

Katsura quickly stood up and brought a shaking hand to his forehead. It was cold and sweaty, but he nodded. 

"Where's Gintoki?" 

"He went out a while ago. He doesn't seem to be planning on coming again, does he?"

The young man gawked at the older one in dismay. "I didn't notice him." 

"He went out the front door."

Katsura didn’t want to but he was feeling relieved. He realised neither of them was ready _yet_. 

_Maybe the next time they met it would be different._

* * *

Slowed and haunted by the past resurfacing, it took him more than usual to get back home. When he did, it was almost dawning. A faint, blue-grey light was entering from the open shutters. 

The meal bag made a dull thud when Katsura let it fall on the floor. Victoria welcomed him home with a _purrr_ and rubbed its nose on Katsura's shins. He tried to smile at the affectionate gesture but he was not able to. 

Looking around, he could see the shape of Takasugi napping in the futon, sheets haphazardly on him. The room was as messy as it was when he left. He obviously did _not_ tidy up as he was demanded. Katsura couldn’t care less now, even as he almost trampled on a half-empty bottle of sake while making his way to the bed.

Takasugi had probably drunk that bottle tonight and just left there, on the way. Katsura thought some sakè wouldn't be bad right now. But the liquid had mostly spilt and was spreading on the creaking boards of the floor.

Katsura sighed when he shook it a little and realised there was less than a sake cup left, which he drank straight from the bottle. The alcohol burnt in his throat. Though, it wasn't enough to get rid of _that other_ daze. 

He undressed completely, clothes slipping on the floor, and joined the other man under the sheets, resolute to make the rushing thoughts fade from his mind. Shinsuke woke up and gave him a drowsy look. He was not wearing his bandages and he stared, grimacing with his single open eye. He tutted.

"I didn't know you were working in a place that could make you look this way." 

Katsura leaned in and kissed him fiercely to shut him up, hands tugging at his yukata to open it, desperately craving for physical intimacy. Takasugi pointing out his questionable state now was the last thing he needed. 

Shinsuke moved one of Zura's slender legs to let him straddle him. Katsura promptly started to rub his backside against Takasugi's length, feeling it twitching and pressing against his skin, stiffing more and more at the eloquent gesture. 

As their mouths parted, Shinsuke smirked and wet his pointer and middle fingers into his mouth and then reached towards the other's backside. It’s how they usually did it when they were out of lube. 

Katsura anticipated him, swiftly shoving his hand away. 

"So much hurry..." Takasugi said in a scoffing tone, as Katsura had one of his hands on the other man’s length, guiding the tip at his entrance. The sheets were sliding off his half-upright posture. 

Takasugi was massaging at the dimples on Katsura's lower back to help him relax the muscles. "It isn't like you, Zura." 

Kotarou bit his own bottom lip hard. 

"It's. Not. Zura." He said between pauses in a pained tone, shuddering while he was lowering his body, pushing Takasugi into him. 

Katsura almost _cried_ in pain, suppressing the squall by biting harshly at his bottom lip. 

His vision was already misty anyway, on the verge of crying not only because of the ache. 

He wasn't looking for pleasure when he began to ride him. 

“Zura, this isn't like you,” Shinsuke snarled, teeth-gritted. This time, Katsura could not sense amusement in his voice. 

He did not correct him. That wasn't like him either, too. 

Katsura raised his hips, and roughly lowered them again immediately. He wanted to put his mind to sleep, to make _those_ images vanish from it. 

He had lost the count of how many times it reoccurred only in a few hours. He had lost count of how many times it had reoccurred since the day it had actually taken place. It was more than a year _that_ it had stopped affecting him so bad... until now. 

Tears were slowly running from his eyes to his cheeks, he forced himself to look at the man beneath him. 

Takasugi was grimly staring at him in scrutiny, examining him. Katsura wasn’t sure if he wanted to meet that stare. It made him feel uneasy, but he was fine with discomfort if it could serve a purpose. He had also lost count of how many times he had sought the familiarity of his friend's body for solace. 

Katsura was feeling an overwhelming sense of vertigo: his reeling head was spinning and he placed his hands on the other man's stomach to steady himself. Takasugi's toned muscles under his palms were slightly twitching but warm and comforting. 

Shinsuke set a leisure and regular pace to their rocking while he slowly breathed but Katsura could perceive that Shinsuke was intently watching the look on his face as he stared at the wall in front of him inattentively, lips trembling. Under his palms, he could feel Takasugi’s abdomen twitch in time with his breath hitching. However Kotarou was too tight and dry, his body too tense. It hindered Takasugi's shaft from sliding much in. 

"Zura, I've had enough," he snorted, his hands slowly brushing the thighs of the man above. "Get off."

"Wha-" Katsura looked at him, eyes and mouth wide open. "Why?!"

Takasugi gestured at him and moved his chin upward. "You're _not_ _here_ and you’re making me bored."

"I _am_ here!"

Katsura pushed down his hips forcibly and grimaced, keeping himself from whining in discomfort this time.

Takasugi’s hands reached for his waist, to keep him still when he was halfway in.

“This isn't like you. What is it? Spit it out.” 

“Shhh…” 

“Don't shush me, Zura. It pisses me off.” 

Katsura breathed deeply and his body leant forward, his mouth ghosting Shinsuke’s. “No need to get mad...” He whispered too softly. His trembling lips brushed the other man's brow. A hand caressed his face as his hips swung.

Takasugi placed a hand on his nape, fingers curling through the strands of hair still collected in the low ponytail, pulling them to keep him still. He fiercely kissed Katsura and swiftly rolled sideways. Before Katsura could react, he was the one underneath and had Takasugi’s forearms on each side of his head, trapping him. 

“You can’t fool me, Zura,” he whispered, face close to his.

Shinsuke stood up his back and spread Katsura's legs, then spit on his fingers and smeared the ring of Kotarou's hole with saliva and what was still out of his own length. With his other hand, he stretched between his cheeks. Then he pushed his hips forward, in a steady but slow-paced movement into him. 

Katsura was letting out throaty sounds through his closed mouth. His sight was foggy and he squeezed his eyes trying to focus on the sensations of his body rather than his mind. He could feel his body adapting to the other man's. Walls stretching, Takasugi's length sliding a smidge deeper with every sway, groin finally pressed up against his own backside. _It was useless though_ : his racing thoughts wouldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried to focus on Takasugi's slow movements – which he would have welcomed and praised on other nights. He wanted him to stop _pretending_ to be so kind and considerate of him. _Katsura was sure that Takasugi knew that he wanted him to be rougher_. He had just decided against it as a ploy until he said whatever had worked him up like this. 

Katsura was aware of it and deemed it to be obnoxious. He gritted his teeth, opened his eyes and breathed in.

_Fine. Neither of them deserved to be treated with courtesy._

"Gintoki. I've seen him. At my workplace. I don't think he'll come again," he hurriedly confessed. 

Takasugi froze and they stared at each other intently. The flicker in Shinsuke’s eye was for Katsura a confirmation of Takasugi’s own emotional turmoil at hearing those words. 

When Takasugi started moving again, he was rougher, more passionate and frenzied than before. Katsura didn't know for sure if it was because Takasugi was indulging him after having eventually answered his question or because he was overwhelmed due to hearing of Gintoki again and channelling the fury against one into screwing the other. Maybe both were right. 

_They really didn't deserve kindness_.

Either way, it was _good_. No other images or thought had even a moment to come up. Katsura had his legs wrapped around Takasugi's waist, rhythmically rocking his hips and following the other man's hectic pace. 

Their bodies were making a slapping noise against each other, heated air-consuming breaths on each other's sweaty skin, murmured wails buzzing in Kotarou's ears as his lips shakingly letting out pleads for _more_. Katsura was enthralled by those rapturous sensations and lost in them. 

When Takasugi gave a series of particularly nice thrusts, Katsura's tiptoes curled and he moaned pleasurably against the crook of his neck, his nails digging into the skin of his back, scratching. 

Takasugi answered back by growling into his ear, catching Kotarou's lobe between his teeth and nibbling it. 

Katsura pulled Takasugi’s hair, manoeuvring his face in front of him again. He kissed him roughly, thrusting with his back and rolling sideways to straddle Takasugi, who followed along. Katsura was making a circular movement with his hips, _he couldn't stop_ , softly moaning while they were settling in the new position. He leant forward, his hands on the other man's chest to hold himself steady. With the thumbs, he was teasing his nipples, slightly pinching one. 

Takasugi's hands were sliding on each of Kotarou's sides down to his hips, giving a spurring squeeze as the signal for him to move his pelvis again. 

Katsura's strands of hair were all messy and tangled and slightly dampened with sweat. The ponytail was falling to one side, and the swinging ends tickled Takasugi's shoulder. Katsura was ogling at the pleased, smug smirk the man below him had on his lips. His soft moaning chuckle was in anticipation of an even tighter, bruising grip on Katsura's hips. Takasugi started forcing him to move as _he_ pleased, at a hectic and erratic rhythm. Every thrust into Zura was different from the others in speed or deepness. Katsura looked up at the ceiling. His sight was blurry and wild high-pitched sounds were coming from his open mouth.

Takasugi suddenly dragged him forward again, pulling his arms. Katsura flinched, momentarily losing some balance. One of Takasugi's hands was still accompanying his movements while the other was gripping at Katsura's nape, fingers firmly threaded in his hair and pulling. Katsura was holding himself at Takasugi's shoulders and sighing, hoarse and throaty through his lips without properly kissing. Takasugi intently stared at Zura's eyes blissfully half-closed.

" _Good_ ," Shinsuke whispered in a laboured and raspy voice. 

One moment after, he was rolling sideways and Katsura was beneath him once more. He moaned in a complaint and Takasugi sneeringly chuckled at it. Katsura bit hard at his shoulder as an answer, where he muffled his groans caused by Shinsuke's sturdy thrusts. 

Takasugi's breath was getting shorter and faster and he was making choked moans when he reached with one hand for Katsura's aroused shaft, until then pressed and rubbed between their abdomens. His palm was sliding up and down on the other’s shaft, hand stroking at the same pace of the thrusts into Katsura. He loosened the pressure and slowed the pace, firmly grasping at the ring between the head and shaft to hinder him from coming first. Kotarou gasped, his mind was lost in blissful nothingness and utter delight. 

Shinsuke quietly released and laid down, spent, at his side. Katsura could feel his hole leaking and _definitely making a mess_ in the sheets. Takasugi settled for a few seconds before he went back to working on him with his hand. Now he started at a slow pace, spreading pre-cum across the shaft to let their skins slide better to each other. He lightly squeezed the head when he reached the top, which he pulled for a gentle stretch. Soon the strokes were faster, his thumb rubbing the back of the tip. Katsura felt like he was burning. Takasugi’s thumb was teasing the sensitive skin on the tip by pressing with little circular movements. They were watching each other. Katsura's eyes were half-lidded, his wheezy breath short and fast, chest frantically moving up and downwards, voice coming out of his open mouth. His vocalisation was higher-pitched and longer when he let loose, pearl white smearing on his own belly and Takasugi's hand. Takasugi slowly loosened his grip until he let go of it. 

They listened to their strained, heavy breaths in the dim light of the room. 

Katsura didn't see the pack of kleenex that was tossed to him until it smacked his chest.

"Any better?" Takasugi asked. He was wiping his hands with a tissue. 

Katsura didn't feel any particular inflexion in his voice. He didn't find it concerned, nor mocking. It just seemed familiar and relaxed. Maybe the night had helped them both, even though Katsura was _well aware_ by now that it wasn't a wholesome way to cope. He thought that he had completely overcome that phase, that he made _nyan nyan_ with him now only because he liked it, and because their bodies worked well together. After all, it was easier with someone whom he had affection for and someone who _knew_ him the best and the longest. 

_Tomorrow it will be better._

"I could ask you the same. The answer wouldn't be that different."

Takasugi glared at him. He didn't answer back.

Katsura thought that all three of them were still a mess, a lot worse than his room.

  
  
  
  



End file.
